


An Offer You Can't Refuse

by bylaude



Series: Summer Wind [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: All of my FE3H will br tagged chaotic dumbass byleth, Chaotic Dumbass Byleth, Female My Unit | Byleth, Gen, Jeralt's Dumb Mercenaries, Mentions of Byleth's mother, Not Canon Compliant, Semi-Crack, how much will I regret writing this in the morning, pre-release, she's making everything I write into a crack fic, this is non-negotiable, three more daysssss to three housessss, which is likely not canon since this is...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 15:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19930339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bylaude/pseuds/bylaude
Summary: Byleth is given an offer she literally lacks the capacity and impulse control to refuse.Or: how Byleth gets the job as a professor.[Pre-Release, Pre-Timeskip, Semi-Crack]





	An Offer You Can't Refuse

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This reads like a fever dream like...halfway through.
> 
> Oh BOI I wonder how much of this is wrong lol. I'm like pretty sure it's Alois who recs her as a teacher in the game buuuuttt
> 
> Should I just tag all my pre-release as non-canon compliant lmao

Painted glass.

Byleth stares at it. Who even spend actual, honest-to-god _money_ on painted glass? Sure, it looks pretty, but what's the point? In fact, it looks _too_ pretty to not cost absurd amounts of cash. _If I steal it and sell it, it'll probably feed a village for three generations._ Maybe she should just be a glassmaker. If every glassmaker gets to sell exorbitant garbage like that, then it's definitely way more lucrative than being a mercenary.

"Ahem," someone clears their throat. Byleth lowers her gaze from the ceiling, blinking blankly at the man in front of her.

"Honey lemon?"

He opens his mouth, before taking a double take and staring at her. "Excuse me?"

"Honey lemon tea. If you're getting sick, I hear that works."

"That's not—" He splutters a bit, before clearing his throat again. He holds up a hand before she can start. "My throat is _fine_. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for your attention span."

 _Wow, rude._ Byleth pulls a face, not even bothering to hide it. _So much for good intentions. I'_ _m going to piss in his tea._

"Sateth," the woman who had been speaking with her father says, her voice admonishing as she makes a discreet gesture. Chastened, Lemon Tea Guy nods his head submissively, taking a step back and letting his superior take centre stage. Archbishop Rhea smiles at her, beatific and kindly. Byleth blinks at her, glancing quickly at Jeralt. Though she doesn't sense anything but the warmest regard from the woman, she still remembers her father telling her, very specifically, to not trust the church.

Jeralt doesn't respond, simply looking at her and generally being no help at all.

"You are Byleth, yes?" She smiles, her voice low and gentle. "The bearer of the Crest of Flames."

Byleth does her best to mirror her father's patented poker face. _Ah, shit, here we go, again. What is it now? Does she want to adopt me?_

It would not be the first time. When she was younger, Byleth often had difficulty summoning her crest; it used to be more of a defense mechanism, flaring in times of distress with a variety of effects. Sometimes it healed, cloaking her in flames that would lick at her skin and paradoxically close her wounds. Sometimes it gave her the power needed for a desperate, decisive strike. It gave her a lot of trouble, back then, and there were a few instances when a noble either saw it for themselves or otherwise caught wind of it on their pesky little grapevines.

_What is she going to say, I wonder? Oh, a child of such talent shouldn't be on the road. Oh, how can she be a commoner, you must be jesting. Let her join my house and I shall provide all the protection she needs._

They were annoyances more than anything, but if there's a one-way road to pissing her off, it'd be questioning — or outright denying — her familial ties with Jeralt. Once, a man from an impoverished and disgraced bloodline, desperate to gain an asset to help him rise from the ashes, even dared to accuse her father of _stealing_ her from actual nobles.

Needless to say, Byleth punched him in the face and broke his nose. Good thing he was disgraced, or they wouldn't have been allowed in that particular county anymore.

Byleth keeps her expression straight. _Alright, lay it on me, lady. What kind of mindfuckery are you going to try on me?_

"As I was discussing with your father earlier," the Archbishop patiently explains, her voice surprisingly void of any reproach for Byleth's inattention. "We have a position open at the Officers Academy. While I had invited Sir Jeralt back to rejoin the knighthood, I had thought instead to offer him the teaching position as we need it filled urgently. He has recommended you in his stead."

_Wait, what?_

Taking her silence for curiosity, Rhea goes into a spiel of what is expected of a professor at the academy. Byleth hears only about half of it, giving panicked glances at her father who is _still of no help_ , merely raising his brow at her.

 _Why are you looking at me?_ His face asks.

She squints at him incredulously. _Who else would I look at?!_

"Your father has told me that you've experience with mentoring others in a wide array of skills," Rhea is saying, "It is most impressive. I'm sure the academy and its students will be all the better off with your addition to its ranks. What do you say?"

Byleth blanks out. _Dad…what the hell did you tell her? Mentoring? All I know is how to swing a sword…and a lance…and an axe… Well, okay, most weapons._ It comes with the territory of being literally raised by a band of gung-ho mercenaries, all hoping to outdo each other by training her, the youngest of the pack at the time, to wield their own weapon of choice. It eventually came to the point that she's no longer the runt of the lot and has assumed a mentor role herself, teaching the newcomers how to fight and survive. But that is besides the point. Any idiot with arms and self-preservation would know how to do that.

Byleth can think of several reasons why she should not ever be placed in charge of highborn children, with the prevailing factor being that she's already pissed off plenty of nobles in her short life and it would be the _dumbest thing she'd ever do_ in her life to agree to help keep a bunch of teenagers alive.

Ugh, teenagers. They look like adults and are capable of everything adults are, but have the judgement of children. It's a recipe for disaster. One or all of them are going to die doing something stupid and she'll have their angry and very powerful noble parents light a fire under her ass.

Byleth knows she probably shouldn't immediately shoot the Archbishop down, however. One does not simply _reject_ someone as powerful as the head of the church. So, new plan of attack: persuade the woman to retract her offer by proving how utterly incapable and unreliable she is.

Byleth clears her throat, prepared to land her first strike.

"Uh, well, _madam_ ," her voice cracks with the strange accent. She's not even sure where the accent came from. Anxiety, what a fun thing! "My answer will depend on _yours_. How much?"

Rhea blinks curiously, parroting, "How much?"

Somewhere behind her, Sateth puffs up, looking terribly offended. "You…! Spoken like a true mercenary. Is money the only thing you covet?"

Jeralt looks at her, long-suffering, "Byleth…"

Byleth turns to the Lemon Tea Man, huffing. "I'll have you know it's not the _only_ thing. But one of them, yes. Sorry, pal, I don't make the rules around here. Money talks; that's just how it is."

He sneers at her, only backing down when the Archbishop waves him aside. Byleth sees her father palm his face. Ah, that's bad. She's really going to hear it later.

"Archbishop Rhea, I apologise on my daughter's behalf. She's not tactful with her words…"

She smiles, unperturbed. "Please, Sir Jeralt. Pay it no mind. It is a reasonable concern; I do not expect anyone to work for free, after all." Rhea pauses for a moment to think, humming to herself, before turning to address Byleth. "Yes, perhaps we shall discuss this in more practical terms. How does fifty sound?"

Byleth balks, not expecting the woman to actually play her game. "Fifty?"

Clearly mistaking the reason behind her disbelief, Rhea frowns softly and tries, "Sixty thousand, then?"

"Wait, per year?"

"Per month."

Byleth launches into a violent coughing fit. "P—per…!"

"Oh, dear, are you all right?" Rhea startles, approaching closer and patting her back.

"Honey lemon, perhaps?" Sateth chooses this moment to sass. "I hear it works."

Jeralt just sighs.

* * *

The plan had been simply to escort her father to the church.

It's not that he _needs_ them to, really. Jeralt was — and still is — the strongest knight of his generation. One of him is worth a hundred warriors, they used to tell Byleth, and she never had any reason to disbelieve them. She has only ever seen her father bleed a handful of times. He's a wall, a fortress, unmovable and constant.

So, no, he didn't need an entourage to accompany him on this trip, no matter how long the road. The mercenaries had insisted on tagging along out of sentimentality and respect, wishing to see him off as he made his way to new waters.

Byleth had a slightly more personal reason for coming.

Her mother.

For all his strength, Jeralt is a commoner. There is no special blood in his veins, no greatness in his ancestry. He had assumed the same of his late wife, until Byleth began manifesting the crest at the age of twelve.

Her father seldom speaks of her, so all Byleth knows of her mother is that she looks like her. That sometimes, when Jeralt looks at her face with expertly veiled wistfulness, he is thinking of her mother. It is only until recently, for reasons unknown, that he'd told Byleth more of her.

A priestess at the Church of Seiros, he'd said. That she'd been quiet but kind, devout to the goddess, that'd she had suffered complications with childbirth and her last request was to ask Jeralt to take their daughter away.

An orphan taken in by the Church, is what Rhea has to say. That she'd stayed there her whole life from a young age, that she'd arrived staggering with burns on her flesh, that she wouldn't speak of where she came from or who she is, so the name they call her by is not even her own.

That is, unfortunately, all Byleth gets before the Archbishop smiles and requests they speak another day. Byleth walks out of the main doors of the Church alone, unsatisfied with the scraps she'd been given.

 _Well, at least I'll be here for a while,_ Byleth sighs as she stops to stare up at the evening sky. It means opportunities to learn more about her mother — and perhaps of this mystery crest of hers, if she could only trace her true origins.

And it wouldn't be so bad either. Byleth begins to smile slowly, giddily, thinking of her fat paycheck.

"What's with that creepy look on your face, girl?" One of the mercenaries ask, catching sight of her. At this, the rest quickly gather around her. As the daughter of their founder and former leader, it was assumption that Byleth would have to take over the reins, but the plans have changed now.

"The boss settled in yet? We should set off soon if we want to reach the next town by nightfall."

Byleth forces down her glee, standing up straight and clearing her throat with grandeur. "Everyone," she intones seriously, "I have a grave announcement to make. I will be staying here."

"Huh?"

"Oh, what is it now?" One of the older veterans groans. "Did you break something?"

"Let's just run, Byleth," a younger one whom she'd mentored pipes up, "Everything here looks expensive. Even if you worked your whole life, you'll never pay it back."

"Oh boy. Does Jeralt _know_? Someone tell him his no-good troublemaker daughter is up to her hijinks, again."

"Poor boss. You'd think he'd be relieved of the burden of parenthood once she reached the age of maturity."

"Like that'd happen."

"Can I be the next leader, then?"

" _You_? You'd lead us right off a cliff, you oaf—"

"Hey!" She blasts, annoyed, "All of you, shut up! I'm staying on my own will, okay?!"

There's a pause, before someone asks, " _Why_?"

"For what, as a knight? You don't even believe in Seiros."

Byleth begins to laugh smugly. Poor fools.

"On the contrary!" She sweeps her arm out, slapping someone with her loose coat sleeve. "I have never believed in Seiros more strongly in my life! Behold!"

She sweeps her other arm out, whipping out a parchment from her pocket and inadvertently slapping several adult men in the face with it as she does. They merely blink tiredly, unperturbed by the action as she starts to cackle.

"Feast your mortal eyes! _The golden bill of divine favour!_ "

"A paper." One intones, unimpressed.

"What are you going to do, wipe your ass with it?" Another heckle, causing an uproar of laughter.

"Shut the fuck up, Kevan," Byleth pauses in her theatrical announcement to snap, too happily, before continuing with aplomb. "A contract! With this, I can secure my retirement after just one year of teaching! Don't you GET IT? After two DECADES of slogging my guts out on the field, surrounded by your foul stench—"

"One decade, tops. You didn't join us in operations until you were thirteen."

"Wait, teaching? You? They must be desperate—"

She doesn't hear them.

"I have finally achieved true happiness! NIRVANA! Is within! _My reach!_ Congratulate me, peasants!"

Someone sighs. "Why? You should be congratulating me. I'm so glad to be rid of you."

Provoked, Byleth springs forth, launching a kick at the offender's knee. He collapses like a rock, cursing, as the rest around him simply watch this spectacle with apathy.

"Don't piss her off, dumbass. She's our meal ticket if we fall on hard times. Hey, By, you wouldn't forget about your old pals when you make it big, will you?"

Righting herself like she had not just assaulted a man twice her muscle mass, Byleth fans herself with the contract, the way she'd seen rich widows do in operas.

"Hah! Pray to her Holy Divinity and maybe she'll see it fit to bless you!"

Some of them boo loudly at her. The very first mercenary whom had addressed her earlier just stares at her with an air of long-suffering, sighing deeply.

"Ah, she's in another one of her outlandish fits again… I can feel it in my gut. The moment you sit down to teach these kids, you'll be singing a different tune. " _I know the Goddess is real because my suffering is evidence of her fickle godly ways._ " When really, you did this to yourself so it's entirely your own fault—oof!"

Receiving a fist to the gut, he, too, drops like a rock. No one pays this mind.

"Well, at least we know who to rob, now," someone points out dryly. Byleth scoffs.

"Just try it! Come between me and my happiness and I'll show you hell!"

"Happiness? Look, money is great, but come on."

"Oh, give it up. She's lost to us, folks. Look at her. The only thing that sets her heart on fire is money."

"Get a boyfriend, you lonely child!"

"A girlfriend would do as well. Actually, anything but your money fetish is fine. It was cute as a child, but it's getting _really_ disturbing."

"Yeah, if you like money so much, go hook up with one of your students. How many poor saps did you mentor and reject? The number will probably be the same here, except these kids are loaded—"

Byleth ignores all of them except the last one. She picks up a rock and hurls it, barely missing the man's head.

"Disgusting. Get out of here, before I drown you in Seiros' holy water."

"Okay, you have to know what that sounds like, right?"

"You're all just jealous! That Seiros has chosen to bestow me with benevolence this fine day! Enjoy your bear meat; I'll be dining like a queen tonight!"

"Hey. Can we leave?"

"Yeah, she's the boss' kid, anyway. She's his problem, now."

"Godspeed, Jeralt. He was a good man."

"Shut the fuck up, Kevan."

* * *

**Omake**

* * *

Three students, clad in their house colours of red, blue and yellow, watch this scene overhead from the third floor.

"So…" the blond one speaks, "That's our teacher."

The girl hums. "A bit of an oddball, but… At least she's strong. We've seen her with a sword."

There is a pause as they fall into contemplative silence, until the third one breaks it.

"But, hey, I bet we could just buy our grades—"

" _Claude_."

**Author's Note:**

> Byleth: (L'arachel voice) "If I were not a holy woman, I would beat you senseless."  
> Also Byleth: kicks one mercenary, punches another, casually attempts to stone someone for suggesting a teacher-student relationship
> 
> This is why we don't see any of Jeralt's mercenaries being introduced in the trailers, right? What do you mean, no?
> 
> This is so dumb and I regret being alive :3 My Byleth is a money hoe Anna and Leonie would be proud of lmao
> 
> (Byleth would not give you a grade for money, but she'd appreciate it as a teacher's day gift *shot*)
> 
> UGH can't wait to have this game in my hands.


End file.
